


in the mouth of the leviathan

by deepestfathoms



Category: The Prom (2020), The Prom - Sklar/Beguelin/Martin
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mom Friend Alyssa Greene, Swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms
Summary: "Teach me how to swim."
Relationships: Alyssa Greene/Emma Nolan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	in the mouth of the leviathan

“Teach me how to swim,” Winnie grits out from between her teeth. Her icy grey eyes are sparkly with tears, shoulders shaking, hands wrapped tight around the straps of her messenger bag. The nails on both hands have been chewed down to almost the stinging quick. Alyssa pauses, swallowing the last swig of her water bottle as she considers the girl. She’s trembling, lower lip wobbling, and her knees are nearly knocking together. Alyssa wants to fish out a bandage from her pocket that she knows she doesn’t have to wrap up around her nails.

“Please.”

Winnie is scared. But why?

It’s a question that even Alyssa asks herself. Why was she afraid of water? Why was she so hesitant to swim? Why didn’t she know how to yet?

What happened?

Did she watch a loved one drown? Was her home destroyed by a flood or hurricane? Was it just an irrational thing that had no reason?

Anxiety surges like the ocean surf and riptides that pull Winnie down beneath the surface, closing over like a lattice net of hands in children’s games, forcing her under. Anxiety, fear, terror--and for what?  _ Over _ what? A liquid? A liquid she should have no reason to be afraid of? 

“Uhh-- sure.” Alyssa says, and it’s as easy as that.

Winnie swallows her shock at the agreement and the tears thick at the back of her throat, and nods. She smiles thinly, wryly, shakily, and whispers, “Thank you.”

Then, she’s gone, whirling around in a flash of red hair and green cardigan and waddling off like an ungraceful red panda with fleas to her next class. Alyssa watches her go. When she’s gone, she turns, too, and throws her bottle away in the nearby trash can. Nearby, masters of eavesdropping Emma, Kaylee, Shelby, Nick, and Kevin stare at her in dumbstruck shock, and Alyssa isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or punch them at their stupid expressions.

“What?” She tilts her head at them.

“You’re really going to spend your Friday evening teaching Winnie how to swim?” Shelby asks.

“Yes,” Alyssa says. “I have nothing planned, anyway.”

“But  _ we  _ could have planned something,” Emma says. “Like, don’t get me wrong, I like Winnie like a three-legged puppy, but her not knowing how to swim by now is basically natural selection.”

“As a lobster, she should really have this down by now,” Kaylee nods. “It’s ruining my fursona for her.”

“Your  _ what _ ?” Kevin looks at her sharply.

“I agree with Emma,” Nick butts in. “If she drowns, she drowns. Just let it happen. She should have learned a long time ago.”

“I don’t  _ want  _ her to drown, though,” Alyssa says. “I’m doing this.” She looks at Emma. “We can do something tomorrow, babe.”

Emma shrugs. “Your free time.”

Alyssa snorts lightly and then goes on her way.

She doesn’t speak to Winnie until the end of that school day, and by then they’re both exhausted. Alyssa hides it as she always does, but Winnie is slouched in a position that’ll make her back hurt later, rubbing the goosebumps on her forearms like she was cold, despite it being a rather warm early spring day. Her eyes are vacant and far away.

(why? why? why?)

Alyssa eases an arm around her shoulder in a friendly way, as if they have known each other for centuries, and she can feel the trembles wracking Winnie’s frame. The girl vibrates against her and rattles her rib cage to a rhythm conducted by aquaphobic horror.

“Come on, hun, ” Alyssa says, and the words ring oddly hollow in her mouth. Her chest aches in a way that reminds her of when she would watch those videos of pets being put down when Winnie smiles up at her- tremulous, but trusting, and Alyssa thinks that this is the first time she’s been told such a thing, been included in something, been the center of someone’s attention.

And it terrifies Winnie.

(why why why oh why why why--)

But Winnie sucks it up- Alyssa can see her swallow in a thick way that makes her own throat hurt. She smiles again, this time more for herself, and says, “Yeah”, but it doesn’t come out right. It’s a squeak, a mewl, a bleat, a pathetic excuse for a reply because her terror has her by the neck with yellowed fangs dug in and she can’t even answer correctly. Alyssa glances down at her, eyebrows twitching together, then nods.

There’s no going back. There’s only the here and now- only the salt spray that bludgeons even her dulled sense of smell, mouth dry and tasteless still from reading out loud in English and reciting lines in Theater, that Winnie hides her face from by burrowing against Alyssa like--like a small animal, a baby kitten maybe, one Alyssa had plucked off of the streets back in middle school, nursed back to health with dribbles of milk and lovingly smashed up food, and learned to care in the Mom Friend sort of way through caring for something else. After the fake Prom, her heart felt like ground beef, or pulpy chuck, maybe- all mashed up and masticated, run through the grinder twice over. It’s still sore, still tender, but it’s been healing. They’ve all been healing.

Was Winnie?

( _ wet too wet too cold why why why-- _ )

And as if on stage cue, her chest twinges, the stab smothered in a rough clear of her throat, and Winnie sniffles. Alyssa can’t tell if she’s crying. 

They take Alyssa’s car. Winnie would be too anxious to drive even if she was allowed to use one of her family’s expensive vehicles. The drive is silent, aside from Winnie’s sniffles and gasps and mewls of distress. She spent it rocking back and forth in the passenger seat, looking very anxious and very regretful and very, very ill. 

But she doesn’t tell Alyssa to turn around or stop, even when she had looked like she was going to vomit at one point. Her nose squirted out blood shortly after that, a regular sign of high anxiety for her, the stress too much for her poor little body, and Alyssa wordlessly gave her a napkin from the console with a pitiful frown.

The surface of the lake churns, roiling over with wavelets and riptides. Little dimples and indents are left behind by the rain, like the pattering of unseen children, jumping in puddles with bright red boots and yellow rain slickers. Alyssa parks in the grass, and she and Winnie sluice through evergrowing puddles and mud to get to the shore. They stop. A runner of blood hangs pendulously from one of Winnie’s left nostril and she swipes it away swiftly. 

Winnie dry swallows. Her eyebrows furrow, knitting together, as she tries to figure out what to do next- paralyzed by indecision by the sandy shores of the water, little wavelets lapping at them, ratty sneakers she brought from the locker room they stopped at squashing down temporary imprints into the wet earth. Alyssa thinks that she looks a hell of a lot like an indignant kitten, when she’s got the tip of her tongue barely poking out from between her clenched teeth and face all scrunched up in something close to the cousin of a scowl like that.

“Gotta screw your courage to the sticking place, right?” Alyssa asks, trying to break the tension, and to her relief, it does. 

Winnie nods, a sharp little jerky motion, and then kicks off her sneakers and wrangles off her socks with her toes. They’re bright pink with yellow elephants, and the water almost carries them away. Alyssa bends down quickly, grabs them by the cuffs and flicks them over her shoulder, back in the vague direction of where their jackets and phones sat, bundled safely away from the surf. Winnie startles a little at that, but when Alyssa takes off her own shoes and throws them, she does the same, tossing her sneakers casually backwards. That tears a smile from her.

“Let’s do this,” Winnie says, and even if her voice catches in her throat a little when a clump of seaweed is washed up onto the shore like a snarl of a corpse’s hair, she steels herself again. 

Alyssa feels that same twinge in her chest--she thinks it might be right under her sternum--as Winnie mirrors her word choice, and they come as naturally to her as if they were her own. Winnie tugs out the hair tie holding her pigtails in place, ran her fingers through the intricate braids, and let the mane of red fall across her shoulder.

Winnie has a lot more hair than Alyssa is expecting. She rarely ever took it out of its braids, and when it wasn’t in braids, it was in a ponytail, so in the few instances where it is down, Alyssa is always surprised at the sheer amount of it. 

Winnie’s hair is  _ very  _ thick. It, in a funny sort of way, looked like a red panda sleeping on her head. It’s frizzy and fluffy and reaches a little past her shoulder blades. For a moment, as the wind whips red tendrils of hair into her face, Alyssa thinks that she can see a girl who could lead herself out of the maw of hell through sheer will and grit alone.

But then thunder grumbles overhead and the lake roils in response, and another line of blood drips down Winnie’s face. 

She lets it fall.

It’s a terrible day to go swimming. 

At the same time, with the skies overcast grey and sprinkling down little tepid spatters of rain rather than a steady drizzle, it doesn’t feel like swimming. It’s a far cry from the gorgeous azure summer day that most people would take a dip in, and Alyssa wonders if that’s why Winnie chose such a day in the first place. Maybe learning how to swim in a tempest would prove something to someone.

( _ who to who who would be proud who would cheer who who WHY _ )

Blood splatters against the wet sand and blooms into a glorious red flower. Its petals whorl outwards, swirling and flapping into magnificent crimson waves that dissolve into the ebb and flow of the tide.  _ Plop, plop, plop.  _ Flowers bloom and wilt with every hungry roll of water against the shore until Winnie finally wipes the stream away and whispers, “I’m ready now.”

She isn’t, Alyssa knows she isn’t because she’s sweating buckets and her eyes are shiny and have more white in them than grey and she looks like she’s about to foam at the mouth like a hog in a slaughtering pen, but she nods anyway.

“Alright.”

Alyssa walks forward blindly into the water, and her hands carefully hold Winnie’s, leading her deeper. Just until the water settles a little over their hips. She keeps her voice soft and warm and oh so gentle.

“You okay?”

Winnie nods, opens her eyes, which Alyssa hadn’t realized she’d had squeezed shut, and utters something that sounds like the noise a lamb with its throat cut would make. Sweat runs down her temple. The water ripples with her body’s violent tremors of terror. She tried again: “Yeah. I’m good.” 

Alyssa gives her the time to readjust, her eyes roving over the surface of the water like quicksilver, between the lightning and the gloomily dark bottom of rounded out pebbles and slabs of slate. It’s a little uncomfortable to be standing on them barefoot, the edges of the rocks and the corners of the bigger chunks digging into the soles of their feet, and Winnie ends up standing up on her tippy toe to try to alleviate it. 

Alyssa holds Winnie up at first. Alyssa has never taught anyone how to swim before, so she’s not sure what to do. Winnie’s sort of sprawled out on her stomach, splashing messily, cutting jags through the water’s surface. She punches and kicks like a drunk boxer, movements choppy. Alyssa’s hands hover underneath her soft stomach ( _ “Don’t you ever eat?” _ ) as she follows her awkward crawl forwards, ready to--push her upwards, maybe? 

Winnie’s hair is getting her in the eyes. Locks of red are like thorny vines pricking against her corneas. Not wanting her student to be blinded, Alyssa reaches over slowly. 

“Hang on, Winnie--” 

Thunder.

Lightning.

_ Fission _ . 

The whites of Winnie’s eyes are stark. She spasms in an awful way. She whips her head over to stare, floundering, and after a little awkward moving and rearranging limbs and splashing lake water, she’s a koala bear clinging to Alyssa. Her legs are cinched around her waist, arms thrown over her shoulders, and Alyssa’s sort of hunched over because she’s supporting both of their weight and Winnie hadn’t thought to bring along a swimming suit, so there’s the issue of their gym t-shirts and shorts billowing out like some Regency era dress and weighing her down, too. She’s this close to choking her out with the strength of her grip.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Alyssa sets a hand on Winnie’s back, feeling her tremors in the very core of her being, and rocks them both in slow, soothing motions. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Winnie pants and breathes harshly against the crook of her neck. Her nails have hooked into claws on Alyssa’s back, but if it hurts, Alyssa doesn’t say anything.

“Your hair,” Alyssa explains, voice so soft even after being climbed up as if she were a ladder. She moves to take a black hair tie off of her wrist. “It was in your eyes.” 

Winnie doesn’t say anything, only looks at her expectantly, the  _ uh, I knew that, dumbass _ clearly writ across her face as she slid down her side as if she were one of those poles at the playground. But with blood rimming her nostrils and her eyes blank with horror and lips chewed to shreds, her gaze was anything but insulting.

“Let me fix it,” Alyssa says and reaches out, but Winnie flinches away from her.

“I’ll do it,” Winnie mutters, taking off one of her own rubber bands (it was green) from her wrist. She smooths her hair back and ties it up into a little ponytail, then swirls that around to cobble a messy bun. It’s not the greatest-looking hairdo in the world, but Winnie seems to like it.

“You’re all good to go, darling,” Alyssa says, tucking a loose strand of her own hair behind her ears clumsily, fingers a little numb with the cold.

Winnie nods. “Okay.”

The moment’s broken, and they go back to kicking and paddling around. More than once Winnie splashes water up her nose and Alyssa snarks about brain-eating amoebas in warm waters. Zombified. Sticks her arms out and everything, tottering this way and that. Alyssa doesn’t roll her eyes, and they both are grateful for it.

Winnie rolls her eyes in response to her own antics, smacks the top of the water again, and it somehow dissolves, momentarily, into a water fight: sweeping arms and frantic giggling. She’s so caught up in trying to drench Alyssa in the bone-chilling water that she’s lost her fear of treading water on her own. Alyssa points it out, cheering, one fist punched upwards as if to punctuate the air at it.

The evening stretches on. It isn’t perfect, but Winnie is eventually passably confident with a front crawl. She’d insisted, because the little print outs crumpled in the bottom of her messenger bag from the internet proclaimed it was the fastest. Alyssa doesn’t push her on her rationale behind choosing it, only helps her get to the point where she can kick her way over to her across the length of a pool. Eventually, she’s exhausted herself, and she lets Alyssa drag her back most of the way without snarking.

By the time that the sun is setting, dying red embers bleeding across the sky in long trails, they’re both chilled to the marrow of their bones. They slog through the last few feet of surf, resistance heavier than it seemed earlier on, thoroughly wet. Water runs down in streams from Winnie’s outfit, and she giggles when Alyssa throws her shoes at her when she’s raced across the sand to grab her own. She hobbles after weakly, and Alyssa stops messing around when she sees her pallor. She jogs over and wraps a soggy arm around Winnie’s shuddering frame.

“Winnie?” She says. She lifts Winnie’s chin with a finger and can’t tell if that’s lake water or tears rolling down her cheeks. “Winnie? Talk to me, honey. What’s wrong?”

Winnie shakes her head and bumps it lightly against Alyssa’s shoulder. Her eyes flutter shut and she breathes out softly.

“Thank you,” She whispers. A line of blood creeps slowly from her nose. “For this.”

“Did someone ever drown?” Alyssa asks suddenly. “In your life?”

Winnie actually laughs. She sluggishly swipes away the stream of blood. 

“No,” She answers. “But I did. They tied a piece of my hair around this bar thingy in the water. I had to rip the entire chunk out of my head because I didn’t have any goggles so I couldn’t untie it safely. There was a bald spot for, like, the entirety of sixth grade.” She looks up at Alyssa, and Alyssa can’t tell if that was rain water, lake water, or tears on her cheeks. “Why do you think I have my hair up all the time?”

Another laugh. Alyssa pulls her into a tight hug. Winnie hugs back, with nails hooked into needy, grasping claws.

“It’s okay,” Alyssa tells her. “I promise. It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“Now it is,” Winnie agrees softly. “Thank you.” She nuzzles her wet head against Alyssa’s chest. “Alyssa?”

“Yes?”

“Can you teach me how to go underwater next?”


End file.
